by Jane Kindred
Phoebe tried to stop, but her feet continued moving forward. She dug her nails into her palms and gritted her teeth, slowing a little but still walking.
“Lila.” The sound of her voice seemed to shake Lila’s hold, and Phoebe managed to stop herself in her tracks, though she couldn’t yet persuade her limbs to turn back. “Lila, what are you doing? What do you want?”
“Stop fighting me.” The throaty Kathleen Turner voice came out of her. “He wants you to go.”
“Who wants me to go?” Her own voice was stronger now. She was breaking Lila’s hold.
“Tloque Nahuaque. Lord of the Near and the Nigh.”
The rattler sounded again, threatened in its hiding place.
Phoebe lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why? What does he want with me?”
Lila let out an exasperated sigh. “He wants you gone.” The irritation apparently distracted Lila. Phoebe regained control, backing away from the brush before turning tail and hurrying back toward the house. Lila still lingered but she could sense the shade’s frustration at having failed in her mission.
“Who is this Taloque...?” She couldn’t remember exactly how the name went, though Lila had just used her mouth to pronounce it.
“Tloque Nahuaque.” Lila sighed. “He keeps my Jacob from me.”
“Maybe I can help you.” She’d barely gotten the words out before Lila followed them with a sharp laugh. “If you don’t try to force me to do things against my will, I can be much more helpful to you, Lila. It’s what I do.”
“You can’t help me. The only way you can help is if you go. If you go, I get my Jacob.”
“How do you know?” That seemed to give the shade pause. “Has this Tloque Nahuaque kept any promises to you or does he keep holding them out as something you’ll earn from him eventually when he’s decided to grant them?” She’d managed to reach the back door as she spoke, and Lila was no longer resisting her movements. Phoebe dashed inside and closed the door, locking it behind her. “Lila.” She’d gone quiet in Phoebe’s consciousness, but Phoebe could tell the shade was still there. “Has he done anything but exploit your need for Jacob?”
“Titlacauan commands us. We are his slaves.”
How many names did this guy have? Phoebe leaned back against the door, her hand still on the knob. “And if you could have your Jacob? If you could be with him...what would you do?”
She felt the shiver of arousal run through her, from the top of her head to her core, like a little shock of lightning.
Lila’s voice on her tongue was full of both anguish and desire. “If I could be with Jacob as we were meant to be, just once, I could be at peace.” With that, she was gone.
It was absolutely out of the question. Phoebe shouldn’t even be thinking it. But if she offered an exchange—the evidence against whoever this Tloque Nahuaque or Titlacauan was, as the price for giving Lila what she wanted—wouldn’t that be worth the minor inconvenience of being temporarily at the mercy of someone else’s desires?
Of course, it didn’t hurt that Phoebe was hopelessly attracted to the vessel Lila’s Jacob had chosen to occupy. Phoebe covered her face with her hands and groaned. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t make that kind of deal and involve someone else. What was she really thinking, anyway? That she could blackmail Rafe Diamante into having sex with her in exchange for exonerating him of a murder charge? How pathetic was that? She’d sunk to a new low.
* * *
When Phoebe checked her messages in the morning, her caseload had tripled. As the lowest on the totem pole at the Public Defender’s Office, she had to take what she could get—especially if she wanted to have any hope of eventually removing “assistant” from the front of her title. That little word meant the difference between getting a mix of grunt work and the cases no one else wanted and getting to work serious cases that would challenge her. And it also meant the difference between people like Ione seeing her as some kind of glorified legal secretary and respecting her as an actual lawyer. Not to mention not having to always live hand to mouth.
After the forty-five-minute drive to the county courthouse at Camp Verde, Phoebe met with her first client, a scared eighteen-year-old kid charged with a DUI who’d spent the night in lockup, afraid to call his parents. Since it was his first offense, she managed to bargain the charges down to reckless endangerment. The prosecutor owed her one, and he was in a good mood.
Phoebe glanced at the time while she scheduled her next client consult and found it wasn’t quite eleven. Not bad for a morning’s work. She even had time to grab a scone and a latte.
Heading upstairs from the basement café with the latte in hand, Phoebe nearly ended up wearing the drink when she took a corner too swiftly and met someone else coming down.
She held the sloshing beverage out of the way as the lid popped off the cup and a dollop of foam hit the tip of an expensive Italian dress shoe. “Shoot. I’m so sorry. Let me get that.” She’d knelt to dab her napkin on the mess without waiting for an answer, but an amused voice made her pause.
“That’s really not necessary, Ms. Carlisle.”
The face she glanced up into was familiar but she couldn’t place it. Thirty-something and blond with soulful blue eyes, he looked like he ought to be on the cover of GQ.
Phoebe straightened with the napkin wadded in her hand. “Sorry—have we met?”
“Just briefly. Carter Hanson Hamilton.” He held out his hand and Phoebe pocketed the napkin before extending hers, still not sure where she’d seen him before. He had a firm, easy grip. “I’m representing Rafael Diamante in the Barbara Fisher case.”
“Oh.” Phoebe pulled back her hand. Of course. She’d seen him yesterday when Ione had blindsided her.
“I hope there are no hard feelings. The Covent only has Mr. Diamante’s best interests in mind.”
“No, I get that, Mr. Hamilton. I do.” She might as well be gracious. “I wasn’t sure why he called me, anyway. He was probably in shock and just dialed the first number he found in his pocket.”
“Please, call me Carter. And I’m sure you’re selling yourself short. Your sister speaks very highly of you.”
Phoebe couldn’t contain the short outburst of laughter. “Ione? She did not. That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Hamilton—Carter—but I’m not exactly the Covent’s favorite person. As I’m sure you know.”
Carter smiled. “You may not be the poster girl for Covent doctrine, but I think you may be wrong about your sister’s regard for you. Blood transcends belief.”
Phoebe regarded him quizzically. “You’re not exactly what I expected from a Covent lawyer.”
“And you’re not exactly what I expected from an evocator.”
“Evocator?”
“Evocation is the official name for what you do. Has no one ever applied the term to you before?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I’ve always called it ‘stepping in.’”
“That’s what they do, of course. Not what you do.” Carter glanced at his watch. “I have some time before my next appointment. Care to join me for an early lunch?”
Phoebe looked down at her latte. “I just got breakfast.”
Carter smiled. “Half of it’s on my shoe. Toss it. I’m buying.”
* * *
They ended up downstairs in the café again. The Camp Verde neighborhood boasted little more than the courthouse and county jail, a shooting range and an incongruously placed African wildlife park. Carter looked a little out of his element in his impeccable suit.
Phoebe tore open the little envelope of Caesar dressing to squeeze onto her salad. “Big spender. I’m impressed.”
Carter laughed. “I thought about suggesting the promising-sounding Carl’s Custom Meats, but it’s a little too close to the wildlife park for comfort.”
Ph
oebe grinned. “That’s why I’m sticking to salad.” She carefully speared a cherry tomato. “So, you’re not from the local chapter, I take it.”
“No, does it show? Not wearing enough crystals?” He winked and ate a bite of his sandwich, managing not to end up with mayonnaise at the corner of his mouth as Phoebe would have done. “I live in Scottsdale. I’m with the Phoenix chapter.”
“And do they not have strict rules about consorting with ‘evocators’ in the Phoenix chapter?”
“They don’t think highly of the practice, I have to admit. Though most who profess to have the ability are charlatans.”
Phoebe paused with a hunk of romaine on her fork. “Do you think I’m a charlatan?”
“I haven’t seen your work, so I have no basis upon which to make such a judgment. But your sister’s talent as a witch is impressive. I imagine your talent must be every bit as much so.”
“Well, I don’t do it to impress anyone. I do it because I can, and people seem to need it.”
“By people, you mean shades.”
“You don’t think shades are people?”
“I think they were people. But I think letting them cling to what they were can be dangerous. For both the shade and the evocator.” He paused and looked up from his lunch, giving Phoebe a perfect million-dollar smile. “But I’m willing to keep my mind open to other possibilities.” It was more than Ione or the rest of the local Covent had ever done. Carter took another meticulous bite while Phoebe pondered and chewed. “Have you ever encountered a hostile shade?”
“Hostile?” She swallowed her bite. “No, I wouldn’t say hostile. A few who were angry and confused at first.” And of course there was Lila, who’d tried to feed her to a snake last night to appease some Aztec god. “What do you think of Rafe’s—Mr. Diamante’s situation?”
Carter set down his sandwich and took a sip of his Perrier. “As his legal counsel, I have to believe he’s sincere in his account of what happened. Whether his suspicions are correct about how it happened, I can’t say.”
“But you think it’s possible. That a shade might have stepped into him without his knowledge.”
“Possible? Absolutely. Whether such testimony would be admissible in court is another matter. Of course, everything Rafael has told me is confidential, so all of this is merely hypothetical, you understand.”
Phoebe nodded and swallowed a mouthful of salad. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Carter touched her arm. “I didn’t think you were prying. Just reminding myself, really. You’re easy to talk to. I find I’m forgetting myself.” He regarded her for a moment. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Phoebe pushed lettuce around in her plastic clamshell. “Fire away.”
“Is there a reason you aren’t a member of the Covent? Other than the obvious philosophical differences, of course.”
“Yes, there is.” Phoebe smiled. “I’m not a witch.”
“So you don’t believe the animating forces of nature have a spiritual component.”
“I’ve never been big on spirituality. I believe in science.”
“Yet as an accomplished evocator, you work with spirit beings.”
Phoebe shrugged. “I suppose I consider magic to be just another facet of science. The flip side, if you will. I don’t attribute it to any god.”
“Some might attribute it to the flip side of a god.”
Her brows quirked upward. “The province of the Devil? Isn’t that considered heresy in the craft?”
Carter laughed with genuine amusement. “No, of course not the Devil. I was thinking along the lines of a goddess. Inanna or Astarte, for instance. Lilith.” He glanced at his conspicuously expensive watch. “I’m afraid I need to get back. But it was delightful talking with you, Phoebe—I hope I can call you Phoebe?”
He certainly had a way of making everything he said sound utterly sincere.
She smiled. “Of course.”
* * *
Upstairs, Carter paused before they went their separate ways. “I hope we’ll have a chance to talk again soon.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips and Phoebe blushed, not sure anyone had ever kissed her hand before.
“Phoebe?” The surprised voice was a deep baritone. Phoebe looked up to find Rafe staring at the two of them, dark brows drawn together in mistrust. “What’s going on?”
Carter let go of her hand and gave Rafe a placid smile. “Just lunching with Ms. Carlisle. We all have business in court today, as it happens.”
Phoebe glanced from Carter to Rafe. “You have business in court?”
Rafe looked grim. “Barbara Fisher’s death has officially been ruled a homicide. And I’m officially being arrested.”
Chapter 9
Phoebe’s face was slightly flushed as she studied Rafe, as if he’d interrupted something more than lunch. Her surprise at the news, at least, seemed genuine.
Hamilton filled in the details Rafe had left out. “I was able to get Rafael an immediate arraignment hearing on the condition that he come in on his own. This is just a formality. We’ll be entering a not-guilty plea, of course. I’m completely confident he won’t be spending a moment in jail.”
Phoebe glanced from one man to the other. “I hope everything goes well.”
“I’m sure it will.” Rafe couldn’t help adding with a touch of bitterness, “When you’re my father’s son, things usually do.”
He couldn’t get the idea out of his head that Phoebe’s lunch with Hamilton was more than just business. Or had they been discussing Rafe’s case? Was that why she was blushing? Was that guilt? What other reason would Phoebe have for meeting with Rafe’s lawyer? He hadn’t slept well last night; maybe he was imagining things. It was probably just a social meeting like Hamilton said. So why did seeing Phoebe Carlisle with Carter Hamilton fill Rafe with such misgiving?
If he had any sense, the legal proceedings he was about to face should be filling him with much greater misgiving. In twenty minutes he’d be standing in front of a judge for his formal arraignment on a murder charge. Every step of this seemed surreal.
He realized he was still staring at the two of them as if he’d caught them in flagrante. Rafe addressed Phoebe, trying to ignore the unpleasant conviction that he was somehow being punked. “Have you had any more contact with the step-ins?”
She cast a sideways glance at Hamilton. “Briefly. We can talk later, if you like.”
Hamilton frowned. “If you have any information relevant to Rafael’s case, it’s important I’m kept apprised.”
“I’ll keep you apprised,” Rafe interrupted. “If there’s something I need you to know.”
Hamilton’s expression flickered with disapproval before settling back into the usual, neutral-yet-confident smile he must have learned in law school. “Of course. So long as there are no surprises that come up in the prelim. I don’t like surprises.”
“I’ll call you, Phoebe.” Rafe nodded to Hamilton. “I guess we’d better get this over with.”
* * *
Rafe thought perhaps his father would show up for the arraignment, but as the judge read the charge of second-degree murder, Rafael Sr. was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was avoiding the inevitable media swarm. Or maybe he just didn’t give a damn. After all, he’d thrown his money at the problem and he expected it to go away.
With his plea entered and bail posted, Rafe had seen enough of courts and lawyers to last him indefinitely, but Hamilton was sticking to him like an annoying lapdog.
“You’re going to need some help getting through the media gauntlet outside.” Hamilton followed close behind as Rafe headed downstairs. “Why don’t I have my car brought around to take you back to your place? I can have someone drop yours off later when things settle down.”
“I’m park
ed around the side.” Rafe pulled out the baseball cap he’d tucked into his back pocket and tugged it on as he headed for the exit. “I’m good.”
“I’ll follow you over, then.” Hamilton was still at his heels. “We can talk about strategy.”
Rafe sighed and turned around, palm in front of him to hold the lawyer at bay. “No offense, Hamilton, but all I want to do right now is have a drink. And maybe a smoke.”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.”
“I see.” Hamilton gave him a patronizing smile. “We can’t really afford to get complacent right now—”
“That’s what my father is paying you the big bucks for. So why don’t you go be lawyerly somewhere and I’ll go do what my father thinks I do best—enjoy the fruits of his labor.”
Hamilton was speechless for once as Rafe put on his sunglasses and pushed open the doors. The reporters waiting outside for their scoop weren’t quick enough to identify him, focused on Hamilton trailing behind, and they mobbed the lawyer as he emerged, expecting him to precede their prey.
Rafe ducked out of the crowd and made a beeline for the side lot before they caught on. That was probably the last time that trick would work. In his rearview mirror, he saw one of the crews dash for their van to follow him as he pulled out.
As he drove toward Sedona, he remembered what Phoebe had said about being drawn to the temple when she’d come this way on Saturday. It would be empty today, and taking the private road to the temple grounds through the Covent’s glamour would leave his pursuers wondering how they’d lost him.
Sure enough, when he turned toward the white pinnacles of the temple, the news van drove on down Highway 179 toward town—and Stone Canyon, where they wouldn’t find him.
The oppressive feeling he’d noted during the ritual definitely still lingered as the tires of his Escalade rumbled over the brick pavement of the parking lot. The heaviness increased after he’d crossed the courtyard and entered the nave to approach the altar. If Matthew was dead as Rafe feared and his shade lingered here among those the ritual had trapped, perhaps Rafe could reach him with the conjuring spell.